


Skeleton's Teashelf

by skeletonfreetea



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardtale, Alternate Universe - Swapfell Fire (Undertale), Food Issues, Guardtale Sans (Undertale), Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), M/M, One Shot Collection, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), blood has food issues, blood has memory issues, ocd edge, sort of i'm not sure if that tag applies or not, sugar is a tall boy, undertale papyrus has the brightest glow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonfreetea/pseuds/skeletonfreetea
Summary: A collection of reader insert short's following along with the skeleton's from various universe's. Come on in and find the tea of your flavor!
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 36
Kudos: 65





	1. Dinner Date

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into publicly sharing my fanfiction in a great, great many years and my first time posting on Ao3. Here's hoping I get the formatting correct.

"What are you doing?"

Edge freezes. “What?”

You squint at him. “With...you know what? Never mind.” You wave a hand through the air in a wave that is the complete opposite of dismissive. Sheepishly, you add, “forget I said anything.”

Which is, of course, not something Edge can do. Now that something’s been half-brought to his attention, he _needs_ to know what it was. Especially considering this is the first time you’ve been _in_ his apartment.

(He even had Red leave for the day which is...maybe not the feat it used to be, back when they first got to the surface, but still! It took a fair bit of haggling with his brother to ensure that there would be no surprise guests mid-way through, with some inane story about something stupid Edge may-or-may-not have actually done in the past)

He takes quick stock of things. A glance at the door, but it’s still closed. So are the windows. Doomfanger has _not_ managed to knock anything off the shelf in the kitchenette and the television is set to the Discovery channel, which has proven to consistently be a very safe bet when it comes to topics.

But...you’re fidgeting. Oh, you’re trying not too. He can tell. You’ve very pointedly gone back to eating, plate held up under your chin so you don’t spill crumbs onto the couch. You take a bite, and then you glance at him, and then quickly back to your own food.

The food!

Jagged frown cutting over his face, Edge asks, “what’s wrong with your dinner?”

“Nothing!” You answer too quickly, realize your mistake, and flounder, “no, no, really. The food’s great. You made it, right?”

“I did,” says Edge, carefully. “But that doesn’t mean you have to eat it. Red has plenty of microwaveable garbage you can get. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

It won’t. Edge has come a very long way in the ‘kitchen skills’ department, but he knows he’s not a _chef_ by any stretch of the word.

You shake your head harder. “Really, that’s not it. This is great. I’ve never had anyone cook for me on a date before.”

“...I thought that was par for the course?”

“I – don’t know?”

“I’m not good at this,” says Edge, bluntly. “Was making it too formal? We can just go out again next time, if you want.”

It takes you a moment to parse that through. When you do, you frown. “Edge, it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you made the food. Honestly? I think that’s super sweet of you. It shows you were thinking about this.”

“Of course I was. I’m the one who asked you out. Why the Hell wouldn’t I put thought into it?”

“Still not the point,” you tell him, but your flush-faced when you do it.

Edge drawls, “enlighten me then. What’s the point?”

There’s a long pause. For a moment, Edge thinks you’re really just not going to tell him. But then you admit, “I was just wondering...what are you doing with your burger?”

Edge blinks. He looks down at his plate and can practically _feel_ the way that heat floods to his skull; ruddy red magic that sits strange on his sharp cheekbones. He was so busy talking to you that he hadn’t been paying attention to his actual meal, absently picking it apart into sections and spreading it out on his plate despite the fact that he’s the one who put it together not even ten minutes prior.

Absolutely mortified at himself, Edge gives a gruff, “nothing.” He snags the tomato slice with two claw tips, quickly trying to piece the burger back together. “What were you saying about that asshole at work?”

You reach out, curling soft fingers around his wrist. “Edge?”

“It’s – nothing. Ignore it.”

“Okay.”

“...okay?”

“Sure. I can ignore it. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot or anything.” You give his wrist a gentle, reassuring squeeze and then settle back down on your side of the couch. There’s so much warmth packed into the curl of your smile it makes Edge’s Soul skip a beat. “It was kind of rude for me to just ask like that.”

Edge stares at you. He’s not sure how it’s rude to ask when _he’s_ the one playing in his food like a toddler. When he tells you as much, it just makes you snort.

“I don’t think it looks like you’re _playing_ in it, hon. I think – well, I don’t know what you’re doing, really, but that’s fine? I’ve just never seen you do that before, at the diner or anything.”

That’s because Edge makes a conscious effort not to do it in public. In fact, he doesn’t really do it when anyone but Red’s around.

Except for you, it seems.

You make him feel comfortable. Even now, Edge is embarrassed...but not because of you. Just that he didn't catch himself before you pointed it out.

Haltingly, Edge admits, “I don’t like when it touches.”

You return, “really? Huh. That must make eating casseroles a pain in the ass.”

Edge lets out a bark of startled, half-relieved laughter. He smiles at you, all teeth, the set of his shoulders already creeping back towards relaxed.

He puts the tomato back down on the plate and eats his burger plain. It’s a good date.


	2. Underfell Red - Dinner Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underfell Red has a faulty memory from the crack in his skull. He gets nervous when he has to meet new people. You're about to have guests over.

“ok. one more time.”

Red taps the tips of his claws against the laminate counter. He’s half braced against it and half curled in on himself, twisted up in a way that you know isn’t comfortable.

You abandon the plates that you’ve been sitting out, going over to lean against the other side of the counter. “Relax.”

“hey. you see me, doll? i’m the ultimate picture of relaxed.”

“You’re so wound up, I’m surprised your bones aren’t popping.”

“greased them earlier,” says Red. You’re expecting a sharp tongued car joke to follow suit, but he just asks, “one more time?”

And then he puts his hand out on the counter, palm up, and something in you goes a little bit soft and a little bit angry. Not at Red, of course, but at the messed up state of the Underground he came from; at whatever causes him to _never_ just take your hand when he wants to hold it, to never just ask for the reassurances he needs.

You’re learning his tells – just very slowly. It’s hard to pick up considering you’re bonefriend didn’t come with an instruction sheet. Well, baring his prickly younger brother, of course, but you aren’t on the best of terms with Edge.

Luckily for you, this is one cue you already know.

You pick up his hand, tangling your fingers together. His metacarpals are damp with sweat. You run your thumb over the pitted knob of one knuckle and then patiently go over the details of your soon-to-be-arriving guests again. “Mark and Judy. I know them from work but they don’t work _with_ me. Just frequent customers. Mark works real estate. Judy likes to talk. And you’re funny, smart, and handsome. They’ll love you.”

Red says, “if I can trick you into falling for me, i’m sure I can schmooze through a dinner date, doll.” A pause, before he adds, “but, uh, just in case - “

“Red, you know that you don’t _have_ to do this with me, right? You can just head home?”

“nah, nah, s’cool. ferget i said nothin, doll. i wanna be here fer, uh, whatever this is.”

You reach out, catching his skull between your hands. The edge of the counter digs into your stomach when you lean over it, but it’s worth the discomfort to press your teeth against Red’s teeth and give him a kiss.

His faulty memory is a touchy subject. You learned that very early on. Edge _reminded_ you of that very early on. The way Red gets weird when he’s caught having forgotten something makes sure that you never forget it.

But so what?

You weren’t just waxing poetics. Your bonefriend can win over just about anyone. He’s funny and charming and a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for. Plus, Judy likes cars, and she likes to talk about cars, and for all that Red’s forgotten mechanics are _not_ one of those things.

You give Red’s sweaty hand another squeeze. “Hey. Come on, hotshot. You’ve got this! It’s _dinner_. Since when aren’t you good at food?”

At your steady encouragement and steadier affection, some of the tension eases out of Red’s shoulders. He gives a low, nervous kind of laugh and then agrees, “eh, guess yer right.”

“Worst comes to worst, call them Mrs and Mr Glasses. They’ll get a kick out of that.” More importantly, Red gets a kick out of it.

He laughs. It’s a good sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they all going to be about dinner dates? Who knows! Gonna try and do either the Classic boys next. Hopefully a longer one, too. Work kicked my butt this week though, so a short little dandy is all we got.


	3. Undertale Sans - Picnic Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is a horrible sweetheart and you've developed sticky fingers when it comes to ketchup packets.

“Hey. You still with me, buddy?”

Sans grumbles before turning just enough to lean more fully against you. The side of his skull digs into your shoulder. There’s a little bit of blue drool bubbling up between his teeth. It’s...unfortunately really cute.

“Sans, come on. We came all the way out here. Are you telling me you aren’t even going to eat this?”

Another grumble. Sans cracks open his sockets. His eye lights are blurry at the edges, big in a way that makes it clear he’s really, truly comfortable.

“Nope. That’s it. Come on, get up.” You shake your shoulder a bit, until Sans finally gives in and sits up. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, yawns big enough it makes his jaws give an audible pop.

“huh.” Sans gives a long, slow blink before stretching. It’s a really good impression of a content cat. The blanket bunches up underneath of him.

You raise your brows at him. “Huh, what?”

“thought the sun only rose once. guess i’ve still got a lotta learn about the surface.”

It’s almost five in the afternoon. You look up at the sky anyway, trying to figure out what Sans is talking about...but there’s nothing?

Sans laughs. He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you up against his side. “i was talking about you? guess that one didn’t land though, huh? s’okay. i got a million others, sunshine.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up. You shove at him, scolding, “you can’t just _say_ things like that!”

It makes him laugh harder. “dunno. kind’a seems like i can say it. Yanno, cause i did. just came right outta my mouth. guess that makes me a real wordsmith, huh?”

In retaliation of the fact that Sans is really, truly, relentlessly sweet, you grab the backpack containing your packed dinner and shove it at him.

He curls one arm around the bag and gives you a toothy grin. “don’t mind if i do.”

Sans unpacks the meal. It’s nothing fancy. Just a few lunch meat sandwiches that you threw together, trying to use up the last of your bread before it got stale. And, of course, all of the little ketchup packets that you’ve been stealing from the gas station.

Your bonefriend’s eyes light up at the sight of them. Sans grin gets even wider. His eyelights get even fuzzier.

“look at you,” says Sans. “getting saucy on me.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard considering you _know_ Sans and his penchant for cracking jokes, but it does anyway, startling a laugh out of you.

Sans takes the laugh as a victory. He latches onto the topic, continuing, “thought we were taking things slow. guess i’m gonna have to _ketchup_ with ya on things.”

“No,” you tell him, between giggles. “No puns. We’re having a _romantic_ dinner.”

“i know. red’s the color of romance, sunshine. ain’t nothing more romantic than ketchup. it sweetens everything right up.” Sans makes to rip open a packet of ketchup, no doubt planning on squeezing it all into his mouth at once to complete the joke...only the package doesn’t rip.

He looks down at it. Frowns. Tries to tug it open again.

The gas station ketchup packet resolutely does _not_ rip open.

You can’t help yourself. That might be funnier than the actual joke. The look on Sans face – so very much offended by the sheer gal of this little plastic packet – is enough to make you howl. You topple over onto your side. The grass pricks at your face through the blanket.

Sans gives a little nervous chuckle of his own. “huh. that...didn’t work the way i planned it.” A pause, and then, “hey, sunshine. wanna show off how strong those fleshy fingers of yours are? i mean, since you were feeling saucy and all, you might as well come over here and get handsy, too.”

You do your best to smother your laughter, but it still builds in your chest, heavy and warm, like comfort, like affection. Sitting up, you nod and take the offending packet. Rather than try and rip it open with your hands, you give Sans a wink, and then use your teeth to peel it open.

When you pass it back over to Sans, he catches you by the wrist, using his grip to tug you forward and plant a skeletal kiss against the side of your cheek. “thanks, sunshine. you’re the best.”

He switches between sweetheart and punster too fast for you to keep up with...but that’s just part of Sans charm, you suppose.


	4. Undertale Papyrus - Dinosaur Nuggets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus makes two meals for dinner. You think his reason is cute. You also totally appreciate the dinosaur shaped nuggets.

“Papyrus?”

“Yes?” Papyrus sets the tray down in front of you, brow bones lifting in question.

You look...less than pleased with the set up? Which is not particularly the look he was going for, if he’s being completely honest. He was going for _pleased_ or _thrilled_ or at the very least _glad the food is finally ready_.

Instead, you just look a little bit kerfuddled.

Papyrus looks back down at the tray, trying to find the source of your confusion. Thankfully, you lean forward, correctly identify which plate is your own, and pick it up. “Why did you make two meals?”

“I did not! I made one meal, for two people?” Papyrus picks up his bowl of spaghetti and joins you on the couch. His timing is impeccable as always. There’s still at least five minutes before the movie is set to start.

You pick up your chicken nugget. “Yep. Sure. But, uh, you also made us both...totally different things to eat?”

“I most certainly did!”

“...why?”

“Because you had a lovely spaghetti dinner with me the last time you came by,” answers Papyrus. “It’s only polite not to make you something different this time? Also! They had dinosaur shaped nuggets! Which are, arguably, the best type of nugget!”

You pause, tilt your head as you think it over, and then concede, “yeah, they do taste better when they’re dinosaur shaped.”

Then you pop the nugget in your mouth and set about getting your condiments all squeezed out. Papyrus turns back to the television, idly twisting the pasta around his fork.

The ending credits for the last movie roll. They have a place to list all of the names for the animals featured, which is very nifty of it. One of the dogs is listed as Handsome Joe. That’s a horrible name for a dog, but Papyrus still appreciates the sentiment.

You ask, “who names their dog Handsome Joe?”

Papyrus grins, giving a delighted, “nyeh heh heh! You have most excellent taste! I was _just_ thinking that same thing!”

“I think that means _you_ have excellent taste.” You poke Papyrus in the ribs and he squirms away from your touch, snickering even louder.

“I suppose that is why I asked you to date me! I knew that you were very cool, very impressive date material!”

“Yep. So cool that I’ll only date the absolute coolest skeleton around. Which is totally you, by the way.”

You’re very tricky like that, always turning Papyrus’s compliments back on him. It’s a wonderful challenge, trying to be the one who makes the Final Best Compliment. He’s all gearing up to do exactly that when you take the wind out of his sails by leaning over and poking the side of his bowl.

It’s such a strange little action that Papyrus completely loses his train of thought, lifting the bowl up to make sure that there’s no sauce dripping off the sides of it.

There’s not.

You ask, “why aren’t you having nuggets?”

Papyrus answers, “because I am having spaghetti?”

“That’s...fair enough,” you concede, settling back to eat another nugget.

It takes almost until the end of the opening credits for the new movie before Papyrus realizes what you meant. He lets out a startled, “oh!” Sitting up straighter and waving a hand at you, like that might somehow clear up his rude dismissal of your question, he tries to explain, “I simply prefer spaghetti! It’s a good taste? And feeling? And it’s all very much like home when I eat it? But I know that everyone has their own home-food, and I would not ask you to eat spaghetti _every_ time you come over for our dinner-and-movie date night! So, nuggets!”

You blink at him. Once, twice, and then you grin, and it’s lovely, all sunny and warm and almost-home all in and of itself. Papyrus can’t help but smile back, orange flushing warm over his cheekbones.

“I like your spaghetti,” you say. “Dinosaur nuggets are great, but I’ll never turn down a little bit of home – oh my stars, you’re _glowing_!”

Papyrus is very much glowing. That tends to happen when he gets horribly flustered. Orange light floods all of his joints, bright and honey-warm.

You grab hold of one of his hands, tugging it over so you can get a better look at his bones. The slide of your fingers over his metacarpals makes Papyrus blush hotter, which makes his joints glow brighter.

He asks, “you like my spaghetti?”

Fingers trace the straight curves of his bones, up to the thick corded neon friendship bracelet that Papyrus is wearing, and then back down. “Of course I do! You make great spaghetti! And – I guess you also make great lights? Papyrus, this is so cool? How are you able to be _this_ cool?”

The words are accompanied by another lovely smile flashed his way. Papyrus gets the feeling that the light show is going to happen a lot.

He doesn’t hate that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horrortale bros are going to be next!


	5. Horrortale Blood - Dressed Up Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood invites you over for a nice dinner. Things go exactly according to plan.

Blood opens the door to his apartment by saying, “s’rry,” which is probably not the best way that you’ve been greeted over the years, but it’s also not the worst. It’s actually pretty normal when it comes to dinner dates with your very large and very handsome skeleton boyfriend.

“Nope,” you say, firmly but gently cutting Blood off. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach Blood, tapping your fingers against the flat curve of his very, very sharp teeth. “Unless you spill wine on me, I don’t want to hear you say that.”

Blood flounders for a moment and then shrugs, opening his door up the rest of the way. “kay. y’look sweet.”

You step into his apartment. It’s always very warm at Blood’s and you’ve taken that into account in regards to your outfit. Holding your arms out, you give a little turn about to show off, and then head for the dinner. “Sweet enough to eat?”

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Blood didn’t mind a bit of morbid humor, especially in regards to his past and the sorry state of the Underground he came from. A deep, rumbling chuckle is his answer. Before you can reach the table, Blood curls his arms around you, pulling you up against his front and pressing his teeth to the crown of your skull.

“only if d’ssert t’rns out bad.” Blood doesn’t let go right away. Which is fine. You’re never going to complain about being held by him.

He’s bigger than any human you’ve ever met, with sturdy bones and a firm (but careful) grip. Tilting your head back, you smile up at him. “If dessert is that ice cream you had in your freezer last time I was here, there’s no way it’s going to turn out bad.”

Blood pauses. Tilts his head to the side. “i got ice cr’m?”

It shouldn’t make you laugh, but it does. You pat him on the hand. “Yep. Mint chocolate chip. We can have that for dessert.”

“kay.” He still doesn’t let go of you. Blood presses his teeth to the crown of your head again, a little more firmly this time around. “missed ya, sweets.”

“Missed you too.”

You’re content to just stand there for a while, being held. Eventually the draw of food is enough to lure Blood into letting you go. He ambles over to the table instead. He tried to get dressed up for the affair – a romantic dinner meant to be a dual celebration for your recent success at work and his recent success with training The Dog to _ask_ for walks by bringing the leash _to_ Blood instead of just sitting quietly by the door – but slacks aren’t really meant to accommodate tails, and claws aren’t that great when it comes to shirt buttons.

The result is him looking dashingly a mess.

The table is already set. Blood grabs dinner from the fridge. Eating outside of the house is still miles beyond anything that your boyfriend is capable of doing, but the meal spread is a combination of delivered food from the local Thai place and a lovely looking salad that Sugar probably put together earlier in the day.

He puts the food out, pausing next to your chair to bend over and give you another nuzzle. His sole remaining eyelight is brighter than it usually is. “y’smell good.”

“You’re just biased,” you say. “And probably smelling the food.”

Blood makes a sound deep in his rib cage. It’s not an outright denial. He gives you another nuzzle before grabbing the back of one of the chairs, hauling it over so it’s closer to your own chair. He sits down, taking a moment to reach behind him and adjust the set of his tail. Then he sets about filling his plate.

Food is – tricky.

Blood has gotten better in leaps and bounds since coming to the surface, but meals are still _very_ hard. Routine is important, and it’s easiest if they just eat in Blood’s apartment or, on the rare occasion, over at _your_ house. And that’s fine for you. It’s cheaper, anyway, right?

But...you can tell that he gets in his own head at meal time, and it’s even worse on Special Nights. You knock your foot into his leg under the table.

Blood gives a full body jerk and stares at you.

You grin back at him. “Hey. Where _is_ The Dog.”

“wit sugah,” rumbles Blood. “outta th’dog house fer now.”

Which probably means that Sugar is half away across town trying to locate The Dog after another successful escape. Cute.

You dump one container of noodles out on your plate, by passing the cheap chopsticks in favor of a fork. Blood waits for you to take the first bite before starting his own meal. Conversation falls away, but it’s a comfortable silence.

It doesn’t bother you that dinners are something _different_ these days. Everyone has their own issues, right? You’re just glad that Blood’s around to share them with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got plans on turning this one into a full-fledged story, I think! 
> 
> Next up is Sugar, and then I might go ahead and do either mu Guardtale boys or Swapfell Fire? Maybe???


	6. Horrortale Sugar - Peach Preserves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sugar loves peaches. You get him some preserves.

“Here.” You sit the little paper bag down on the counter. The apartment is small and dingy, not for lack of care on the skeleton brother’s end, but lack of care on the owner’s. Even with Sugar and Blood not owning much, it feels crowded.

It doesn’t help that Sugar is so tall, he has to stoop to be in his own house. He carefully picks up the bag, cradling it against his chest. “ _For...me?_ ”

“Yep!” You clear a spot on the counter and hop up onto it. “Don’t get that look, you haven’t even seen it yet. It’s not much, just – I was out at the market and thought of you when I saw it.”

That just makes Sugar’s face go softer. It’s amazing that someone so jagged and sharp can get so _soft_ looking. He uses one hand to remove his pot from the heat, turning the burner off before heading into the living room. They skipped the couch in favor of a king size mattress on the floor, piled full of pillows and cushions and bean bags to give it more structure, more cushion.

Sugar sits down first, and you clamber into his lap a moment later, tilting your head back to smile at him. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you stop cooking.”

“ _No...It needs...to sit_.” Sugar opens up the bag like he’s unwrapping a present on Christmas. The jar of peach preserves inside is a little lack luster compared to the gentleness and attention that Sugar’s giving the task.

You know it’s just something small, but it still makes you giddy. You can’t help it.

Three weeks ago, you and your bonefriend had been out in the market. It was very late, to avoid the crowds, more of a practice run than an actual shopping trip. Sugar had spotted the peaches on display and been upset over the fact that they were all bruised and botched; he’d mentioned that peaches were one of the first things he’d been able to eat and keep down after coming to the surface.

So when you had gone out to the farmer’s market today and seen a jar of _hand picked_ peach preserves, well! It had made you think of him.

Sugar rolls the jar between his big hands. Then he holds it out to you and asks, “ _what is...it?”_

“Oh! Shit, sorry! I wasn’t thinking! It’s like – jam!”

“ _Jelly?_ ”

“Jelly, but chunky!”

A slow smile spreads over Sugar’s face. He presses the jar against his sternum and then curls down, leaning forward to nuzzle against you. You happily return the affection, rubbing your cheek against his chipped bones.

“ _You’re_ … _sweeter_ ,” says Sugar, his whispering voice dropping that much lower. His magic is weak and thin, but the shape of his eye lights flash and distort briefly before returning back to their small, pin prick circles.

Your own heart gives a happy little double beat in your chest. “Nah,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only peach around here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sugar has a whispering voice, at least partially due to the damage his teeth have taken. Both of the horrortale bros have some serious issues when it comes to food and crowds, but they're slowly getting better. You help with that!


	7. Swapfell Fire Mal - Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice cream, grumpy boyfriends, and cold water!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal version of Swapfell - Swapfell Fire!

“Mal? Why are you trying to climb into the fridge?”

Mal gives a full body jerk. It sounds like an elbow cracks against something. Swearing a blue streak under his breath, he spins around and scowls at you. It might be an impressive look if not for the fact that it’s three in the morning and he’s wearing one of your night shirts in lieu of actual clothing.

“I’m _not_! Why the Hell are you up?” There’s a rasp to his voice that’s not usually there. A faint indigo flush is spread out over his skull.

That’s...probably not a good sign.

“Dunno. Rolled over and you weren’t in bed.” You walk over to join him by the fridge. “You feeling okay?”

“Of course I am,” he huffs.

“You don’t look great.”

“I look incredible, fuck you.”

It makes you snicker. You tug open the freezer, grabbing out a tub of ice cream from the far back. “Grab spoons? We can eat this in bed.”

Mal eyes the tub suspiciously. “I’m _not_ eating in bed.”

“It’s ice cream. There aren’t any crumbs.” You get the spoons yourself and then head towards the bedroom. Mal is prickly and has some issues with control, mostly stemming from his high LV. The two of you have never discussed it, but _Mutt_ helpfully filled you in on a few details once he realized that Mal’s first temper fit hadn’t sent you running for the hills.

By the time you’ve gotten back in bed, Mal’s appeared in the doorway, just like you knew he would. He shifts back and forth, looking oddly vulnerable without his scarf or boots on.

You ask again, “gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing,” insists Mal. He finally moves to join you on the bed. He’s not moving gingerly, so it’s _probably_ not his ribs.

The flush is concerning. Do skeletons get fevers? Damn, you should probably look into that. It gets added to your very long list of things that you’re going to need to research at some point, eventually.

Mal takes the spoon when you offer it to him. For a little bit, it seems like you’re both content to sit there and eat ice cream in silence. Can’t say it’s the worst three AM snack you’ve ever had.

After a bit, Mal says, unprompted, “I’m hot.”

It takes you a solid three seconds to realize he’s not cracking a joke about his appearance. “Hot like...a fever?”

Mal shakes his head. He’s very firmly looking at the ice cream instead of you. “No. It – happens sometimes. I didn’t realize until we came to the Surface. I presume it must be from the fires.”

Like the LV flare-up’s, Mutt helpfully let you know, also early on, that Mal’s job had sent him into the fires raging in the Underground a _lot_. You don’t have all the details for it, but you get the feeling that skeleton’s don’t handle burns the same way a human might.

Still...A thought tickles at the back of your throat and slips right out before you get the chance to think it over. You offer, “wanna eat ice cream in the bath?”

Mal gives you an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“The bath. I can fill it up with cold water for you, and you can soak in it a bit. Can’t get messy if you’re just going to wash up right after, you know?” You’re already getting up because, actually, that’s a _brilliant_ idea. Go you!

There’s a bathroom attached to your main bedroom. You nudge open the door, reaching in to flip on the light with one hand, and looking back over your shoulder.

Mal’s just sitting on your bed, clutching the tub of ice cream against his chest, looking small and hurt and lost. 

Your heart breaks for him a little bit.

“I’ll let you know when it’s full up,” you tell him, waiting for a nod before vanishing in, set out to find bubble bath and bath salts and run the best damn bath of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically counts, might not be dinner but it's still about eating! It fits with the theme!


	8. Swapfell Fire Mutt - Candy Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says you can't have candy for dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mutt tends to make everything sound like a question, pardon his quirk!

It’s dinner time and Mutt _knows_ that he should out in the kitchen, trying to actually put something together for dinner, but just the thought of eating actual food is enough to make his magic get all thick and sticky.

You don’t seem horribly bothered by the decision to sit in his room, anyway. You’re all sprawled out in his bean bag chair, looking adorable. “Hey. Toss me one?”

“oh! sorry?” Mutt grabs a second butterscotch candy out of the bowl on his bedside table and tosses it your way. Even without magic, his aim is spot on. “are you hungry?”

“Meh.” The crinkle of candy wrappers fills the room. You pop the candy in your mouth, tossing the paper to join the litany of brightly colored wrappers already scattered across the room. “I could, like, snack?”

Mutt slides off the bed, carefully, so he doesn’t knock over any of the various empty cups scattered about. He really does need to get the place cleaned up some but that seems like a _lot_ of work. He offers, “i have candy?”

You snicker. “I never would have guessed.”

“that’s not what i meant? but if you don’t want any, that’s nut my problem?” Mutt fishes a bag of peanut butter candies out from under the bed.

Your eyes light up. “Are those - “

“you said you liked these? and then i saw them on sale right afterwards?”

“Have you tried them yet?”

“i was waiting for you?”

You give a ridiculously pleased sounding squeal and _launch_ yourself out of the beanbag chair...and directly at him. Mutt doesn’t have enough time to brace himself. The both of you end up sprawled on the floor, cups tipped over, and a pillow knocked off the bed in the upheaval.

Mutt laughs. The sound is rasping. He grabs the pillow and jams it under his skull, looping one arm protectively around you, holding you against his rib cage. Your chin digs into his sternum, but it’s not long before you’re giggling, too.

With one hand, you grab the bag of candies and give them a shake. “Wanna have these for dinner?”

Perfect, that’s what you are. Absolutely perfect. Practically a mind reader. Mutt makes a pleased, rattling sound in his chest. It draws out into a soft, wheezing purr.

“yes,” he says. “i really, _really_ do?”

Mutt’s never had peanut butter before, but he’s also never met a candy that he _didn’t_ like. And if you say it’s good...well, how can it not be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something short and sweet (like mutt!) this time around. Only one more set of brothers to go, and then I'm going to switch to a new theme! I'm thinking "storms" for the next batch? Maybe???


	9. Guardtale Brick - Disaster Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinners at Brick's house can be a little wild. This one goes surprisingly well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU notes at the end of the chapter. Brick is one of my personal boys!

Dinner can get...hectic sometimes. You’re honestly surprised that this hasn’t turned into a complete disaster the way that most of your impromptu dinner dates end up being.

King has thoroughly rounded up Asriel for the affair, swooping the little prince off into his bedroom for dinner and crayons. The house is surprisingly quiet.

Quiet enough that the ding of the microwave makes you and Brick _both_ jump.

He gives a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck before moving to get it out. “so, are you going to give me five stars?”

The TV dinner is truly a travesty. The corn has spilled into the brownie and the gravy is crusty on the edges. It still gets put down in front of you like Brick is serving dinner to royalty. “I don’t know. Waiter, I think there’s a hair in my brownie!”

“not mine.” Brick raps his knuckles against his skull, right beside one of his horns.

You give a single sage nod. “Must belong to the chef, then. No compliments for him.”

“awww, and i heard he worked real hard on this, too.” Brick pops the seal on another dinner and slides it into the microwave. He hits the timer for three minutes instead of four. Gooey brownie zone.

“I’ve got high standards. He’ll have to work harder.”

“hey. your standards can’t be that high if you’re dating me, pal. besides, the chef’s like – ten. give him a break.”

It’s all said jokingly.

You _know_ it’s _meant_ to be a joke.

It just...doesn’t make you laugh.

So you tell him, “I’ll have you know, my standards are incredibly high. They’re Michelin star high!”

Brick shrugs one shoulder. “i don’t know what that is.”

“It means I’ve got gold standards. Nothing less than the best.”

“eh.” He waggles a hand at you. “I think it’s more like so-so. i mean, you picked _me_ to be your bonefriend.”

“Exactly,” you tell him. “I’m dating you. Nothing less than the best!”

Brick flounders at the earnest compliment. His bones flush faintly gold; a full bodied air brush blush

Behind him, the microwave dings. Cheekily, you tell him, “dinner’s served!”

Victory!

Now there’s no _time_ for him to argue with you!

You can see Brick coming to that same realization himself. He gives a low, nervous chuckle and holds his arms out to the side. “alright. you win. dinner’s served.” He gets his plate out. It doesn’t look much better than yours. “you wanna eat in the living room? i think king’s probably got the kid occupied long enough we can watch a movie.”

“Dinner and a show? Wow. I’m _really_ getting the royal treatment today.”

Brick leads the way into the living room. “i mean, you’re the one who said it. nothing but the best for you. we don’t even have to watch cartoons.”

It’s a good date-night, even though the two of you _don’t_ make it through the whole movie before Asriel comes barreling downstairs, an apologetic King in tow, begging for _popped corn_ and a story before bed.

Brick, of course, is the best story teller in the world according to Asriel, but as he gets up, letting the little prince tug him towards the stairs, he tells you, “we’ll do cookies when i get back, okay?”

You smile. “Looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes! Guardtale is my personal au, starring Brick (the sans) and King (the papyrus). In brief, they’re former experiments/creations of Gaster, who have become little prince Asriel’s personal guards (personal babysitters) after Chara’s unfortunate death. 
> 
> You can find more information on the au @ guard—tale.tumblr!


	10. Guardtale King - Late Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's okay to have dinner later than planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 20k words for work today so this is very short, but I'm still happy with it. Also! I did the full set of skeletons! Go me!

The manor house is just as empty as ever. You don’t know the full story behind the king and queen. You’re pretty certain you never will. There’s a lot of monster history that’s been conveniently _lost_ between the time they were locked away and the time that they were able to get back up to the surface.

What you do know is that King is always far more quiet on the days he’s not allowed to take Asriel to the small, modest house he owns with Brick. Asriel is a lot more quiet on these days, too.

Presently, the little prince is perched on the edge of the very large dining room table. He’s curled around one of his older teddy bears, the fur natty in the way everything well loved get. He looks...sad, actually.

You _had_ been going in to see if King needed help getting the dinner put together, but you detour over to see Asriel instead. “Hey, punk.”

He gives you a tiny little absolutely unconvincing smile.

You hop up on the table next to him. “Rough morning?”

Asriel nods, and presses his face into the top of his bear.

You ask, “rough night?”

He nods again, not lifting his head up to do so. King ducks his head back into the dining room to announce, “the food will be – ready, soon.” Pauses, brow bones raising at the sight of you, and says, “the table is not for – sitting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the one before. The table is made for glasses, not for - “

King clears his throat very loudly and gives the prince a pointed look. Oh, right. Woops. You forgot that both brothers have a very, very strict _no bad habits around the prince_ rule.

You give your bonefriend a sheepish grin. Lamely, you finish, “- sitting. It’s not for sitting.” You slide off the table, turn around, and hold your arms out for Asriel. “But you know where _is_ for sitting?”

Asriel finally pulls his face away from the bear. He’s got these big brown eyes that make you go all mushy inside.

(you can’t believe anyone could be mean to him. you’ve been around for his nightmares, though. you know he’s quiet for a reason.)

(you’ve also seen your normally loud bonefriend get very quiet when dealing with the prince, though, and kind and gentle and charming, and you know that asriel is in good hands these days)

Asriel asks, “where?”

You drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard King’s shoulders are pretty comfortable.”

Just like that, Asriel’s whole face lights up. He all but throws himself off the table and launches himself at King, throwing his arms out and making grabby hands, whining softly to try and get what he wants..

King, stubbornly, says, “use your words.”

“Up,” says Asriel.

And King’s stubbornness crumbles like a house made from tissue paper. He bends down, scooping Asriel up and placing the prince on his shoulder. King tells you, “if dinner is late now it’s – your own fault.”

You grin at him, sliding your hands into the pockets of you jacket. “I dunno. I think I can manage a late dinner. Tonight, at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna learn more about Guardtale? Check me out over on guard--tale.tumblr!


	11. Underfell Edge - Missing When It Rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your bonefriend makes himself scarce when bad weather comes in. You wonder why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one begs to be expanded on! I'll be adding it to the list of "make longer later"!

You don’t notice it at first. Edge is very prone to ending your dates abruptly. He’s still figuring out what the word _relax_ really means. So when he stands up in the middle of your casual coffee date and announces, “I’m leaving,” you’re a little disappointed but not entirely surprised.

“Okay. Call me later?” You tilt your head up, and he leans down and gives you the expected press of fangs to your forehead before sweeping outside.

You’re so busy watching him leave through the window that you only distantly take note of the fact it’s getting dark outside.

After a few months of dating him, you start to notice more of his habits. Little tells that Edge will never admit to having and would _not_ like to have pointed out, thank you very much. Like the fact most of the time it’s really cocoa in his coffee mugs, and that he digs at his hands when his LV is acting up. The fact that he always sits with his back to a wall, gaze towards the door.

And the fact that he always gets up and leaves your dates early if the weather starts getting bad.

It’s fine! It’s not that you _mind_. Dating Edge should come with an instruction manual is all, and this is something you don’t...totally understand.

So the next time the two of you are out together and it starts getting dark, you’re expecting Edge to stand up, gathering his small take-out container of food. “I’m leaving. We’ll finish this conversation another time.”

This time you’re ready for it. Smoothly, you say, “I’ll walk you home!”

Edge arches a browbone at you. “Very well.”

Outside, the air has already started to get muggy. Thick black clouds spread out over the sky, blotting out the sun. “Storm’s coming in.”

Edge hums at you.

“I wonder if it’s going to thunder?”

Another hum.

“You know, _some_ people are scared of thunder.”

“Yes,” says Edge, dryly. “I’m aware.”

You slide your hand into his, twisting your fingers together. Subtlety is going to get you nowhere it seems, so you just outright ask, “are you?”

“Am I _what_? Scared of thunder?” Edge scoffs. “Do I _look_ like my brother?”

“Oh. Red’s scared of it?”

“Not that he’s ever said out loud.”

“But...you’re not?”

“I’m hardly going to be afraid of a _sound_ ,” scoffs Edge.

And – okay, that one stumps you. “Why do you always leave when it rains then? I figured it was the thunder.”

Edge gives you a little sideways glance. His fingers flex around your hand. “You noticed?”

“Not at first,” you admit, because Edge gets prickly when his pride is wounded.

Prickly enough you wonder if maybe he’s not going to tell you, even. But, no, as you round the next corner, still holding hands, he risks a look up at the sky. The first fat raindrop splatters against his skull. He admits, “the rain makes me bones hurt.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

That makes sense. Your bonefriend has an awful lot of splits and cracks. Of course bad weather makes them feel worse!

You feel a little bad for not connecting the dots before, but you’re already thinking of how to make it up to Edge – and how to maybe make him feel a little bit better in the process.


	12. Underfell Red - Thunderstorm Jokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is afraid of thunder. You've got a joke for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit, but I finally had time to write another one! Personal headcanon is that Red talks with a stutter, so. I went with it!

You wake up to sharp little claws digging into your stomach through the fabric of your night shirt, and a skull pressing _hard_ against your back, between your shoulder blades. Half asleep, you mumble, “Red? Wasswrong?”

The clap of thunder answers you, followed by Red jerking tighter against you. His claws have probably left little pin holes in your shirt. It’s a good thing it’s an old one, and also that you don’t mind. Still not totally awake, you manage to fight his grip off long enough to roll over. As soon as you’re still again, Red is shoving his head against your, arms wrapping around you as if that’s the only thing keeping the storm outside.

You put a hand on the back of his skull. It’s sweat damp. You stroke it long and firm anyway. Despite the fact that Red and his brother have been living on the surface for years, the skeleton has never been able to come to terms with the fact that _thunder_ isn’t a physical thing.

It has something to do with there being no thunder underground, you figure, with how Red has an aversion to loud, sudden sounds even on a good day. Of course, there might not be any reason for it at all. You know plenty of people with fears that have no actual base. Doesn’t make them any less real to deal with.

“Easy,” you tell him, voice a lot murmur. The rain is a dull, distant sound. It must be more wind and thunder than anything else. “S’okay.”

“i kn-now it is,” hisses Red. He’s wound so tense you’re surprised that he’s not giving himself any hairline fractures.

With the hand not curled tight around your boyfriend, you pull the blanket up around his shoulders, and your own in the process. “Wanna hear a joke?”

Red doesn’t answer, but he tilts his skull back and peeks up at you with his one red eye. “a-always, d-doll.”

“What did the hurricane say to the coconut tree?”

“w-what?”

“Hold on to your nuts, this is no ordinary blow job!”

Red snickers. Another clap of thunder has him huddling even further under the blanket. He manages to get one hand tangled up with your own, fingers twisting together.

You run your thumb over the bumps of his scarred, calcified phalanges. “Knock knock.”

“who’s th-there?”

“Hurricane.”

“h-hurricane, who?”

“ _Hurry, can_ you run away from the storm?”

That one gets a louder laugh. Red doesn’t pass the jokes back to you, like he normally does, but you aren’t expecting it. The thunder is too loud and close and frequent for that.

But that’s fine. You’ve got plenty of weather jokes for the both of you, saved up exactly for times like these.


End file.
